


Never have I ever

by appleschnapple



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleschnapple/pseuds/appleschnapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A light and humorous game of "Never Have I Ever" turns progressively more serious and intense as the evening wears on. A round of uncomfortable revelations and character development for all! - Kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never have I ever

Their game of Wicked Grace ended much as it usually did; Isabela all the richer, Anders all the poorer (typically most of them took pity on him and gave him his money back), and Sebastian and Aveline watching from the sidelines – though both had a habit of eyeing the door nervously every so often, apparently worried that a passing guard or chantry sister would come in and see them associating with... the kinds of people Hawke associated with. (However, as chantry sisters seldom came in the Hanged Man, and guards had quickly begun avoiding it after realising it was where their captain frequented, these worries were largely unfounded. There had been one unfortunate incident involving one of the more elderly sisters, but they pointedly avoided bringing this up – aside from Isabela, who did so repeatedly, despite Sebastian asking, pleading and finally begging her to stop.)

“We should play another game,” Isabela said, leaning back on her chair and resting her feet on the table. Aveline, sitting opposite her and clearly unimpressed with the view (courtesy of a just-too-short tunic), shoved them off again.

“You can,” said Anders, looking pitifully at his meager pile of coins. “Some of us need to hold on to enough to buy bandages. And food,” he added, as an afterthought.

“You can't afford food?” Hawke asked, horrified (and spent the rest of the evening trying to surreptitiously add coins to Anders' pile, to varying levels of surreptitious).

“Oh no, not gambling.” Aveline and Sebastian looked up with interest at this, though Aveline frowned again moments later.

“I'm not sure I want to play any game you suggest.”

“It's nothing _naughty_ ,” Isabela said, looking slightly disappointed. “Unless you make it that way. Which I intend to. The rest of you can be huge prudes if you like.”

“I'm going to regret asking what you have in mind, aren't I?” asked Hawke, pleasantly enough. Varric snorted.

“Never have I ever,” Isabela replied, to a mixed response. Aveline and Anders rolled their eyes (in perfect tandem; it was quite a sight to behold), Hawke and Varric seemed largely ambivalent and both Fenris and Merrill's faces remained impassive. (Sebastian's face also remained frozen, but this was most likely to do with the leaden terror that had just struck him.)

“I don't think I've ever heard of that,” Merrill said brightly. “Is it dirty?” (As always, she seemed just a little bit too enthusiastic about that question.)

“It can be.”

“It can also be stupid and juvenile,” Aveline interjected, folding her arms across her chest.

“You think everything fun is juvenile,” said Isabela, before turning her attention back to Merrill. “It's simple, Kitten. You say, 'Never have I ever...' and then say something you've never done, and then everyone who has done that thing has to take a drink.”

“Like, never have I ever... oh, this is hard.”

“You can say something you _have_ done, as well,” Isabela said kindly. “It's more for finding out what other people have done.”  
“All right. Never have I ever... stepped in animal muck.”

Anders scowled, and pointedly took a sip of his water. “I grew up on a farm,” he said darkly. Isabela laughed, then pointed at his drink.

“If we're going to do this, you're going to need something stronger than that.” She turned to face Sebastian, his face still curiously neutral. “You too, chantry boy.”

“I am sworn to the Maker to not give in to sinful desires,” Sebastian replied, a little more sharply than necessary.

“And I'm... not allowed.”

“Right,” Isabela said, grinning toothily in a way that was not altogether very friendly. “But just think how _awkward_ it would be, listening to us drunkenly revealing our deepest, darkest, most _intimate_ secrets, while you keep a clear head and remember everything.”

There was a pregnant pause, in which Merrill looked nervously excited and Fenris oddly contemplative.

“... alright, I'm in,” said Anders. Sebastian, still faintly pale at the thought of things Isabela considered intimate secrets, nodded slightly. Isabela cackled delightedly.

“Excellent! Two jiggers of whiskey for my friends here!”

“What, we're not good enough to buy drinks for?” Varric asked, all mock offence. “You wound me, Rivaini.”

“I think you owe me at least one drink after the spiders incident.” Hawke would never quite let that one go. Sure, his arm had swollen up to nearly twice its normal size and turned an odd purple colour after a particularly vicious spider bite, but in Isabela's mind those sorts of things weren't worth dwelling on. Anyway, in retrospect it was rather funny – to everyone except Hawke, she supposed.

“And I think you're enough of a lush without my help.”

“That's... fair enough.” The last time they'd made a night of the Hanged Man, Hawke had required assistance walking home, and had proved to be a very handsy drunk. (The next day, Aveline had; quite kindly, explained that while she would allow it the once, if he ever tried anything like that again he'd lose both his hands in an unfortunate accident with her sword.)

The woman in question looked at the group, and sighed. “You're all going to end up humiliating yourselves and doing some very stupid things, aren't you.” It wasn't a question.

Hawke and Isabela at least had the good grace to nod their heads in agreement.

\- - - 

“Never have I ever... you know,” Merrill said, giggling, her skin already flushed from the few drinks she'd had. Unsurprisingly, everyone took a drink.

“Oh, is it my turn again?” Isabela asked, ignoring the groans from the rest of the table's occupants. “Never have I ever had sex on horseback.”

“Oh come on,” Aveline grumbled. “Has _anyone_ done that?” (While everyone's attention was on Isabela, Sebastian took a sip from his cup, and desperately hoped that nobody would notice his was already considerably emptier than the others'.)

“You'd be surprised,” Isabela said knowingly. “You're up next, big girl.”

“Never have I ever stolen.” Hawke, Fenris and Isabela each took a drink. “Hawke!”

“It's a compulsion!” Hawke replied defensively. “I only steal from the ones that can afford it, anyway. It's part of my roguish charm.”

“He is quite charming,” Merrill told Aveline happily. Aveline just rolled her eyes.

“Fenris?”

“Never have I ever been with a mage.” Anders' eyes narrowed slightly as he and Isabela downed their drinks, and Hawke looked distinctly unimpressed, but Merill just looked bemused.

“But you've been with – ohh, I see. _Been_ with.”

“Merrill,” Isabela sighed. “Why haven't I bought you some time at the Rose yet?”

“Quit trying to corrupt Daisy, Rivaini.”

“I'm not trying to corrupt her! I'm trying to educate her.”

“Like you were trying to educate my sister?” Hawke asked wryly. Isabela shook her head.

“No, I was trying to bed her.” She sighed again, ignoring Hawke's coughing fit in the background. “Does the Circle allow conjugal visits?”

Anders opened his mouth to respond, but Varric lifted a hand warily. “Could we please try and get through the evening without a 'Mages should be free' diatribe?” Faintly chagrined, Anders shut his mouth again, but not before quietly muttering “mages _should_ be free.” To his left, Hawke nodded emphatically.

“All right, off the subject of Hawke's sexy sister.” Hawke grimaced. “Varric?”

“Never have I ever,” he began, looking particularly satisfied with this one, “screwed up.”

“What,” Aveline said flatly. Most of the others looked similarly unimpressed. Isabela, however, simply shrugged.

“All the more excuse to get drunk. Is the amount you drink proportional to how big a screw-up it was?”

“Why not?”

Everyone at the table drank deeply, Merrill swaying slightly in her seat. Hawke looked glumly at the empty mug as he sat it down again. “I'm going to need considerably more to drink.”

“Hey, don't drink yourself into oblivion just yet. The night is still young.”  
“You know,” said Anders kindly, reaching forward as if to place his hand over Hawke's but stopping mid-way, leaving it hanging awkwardly, “I think it probably gets balanced out by the good you've done.”

“Are you saying that to make Hawke feel better, or you?” Fenris asked, setting his own drink down (and spilling some over the sides as he did so – Fenris had drunk to a surprising number of things for a man without any memory of much of his past).

“Shut up.” Not wanting this to turn into a full out bar brawl (they were still paying for Isabela's last) and _really_ not wanting to see what colour Anders' insides were, Hawke interrupted, “I think it's my turn.” He faltered slightly under seven pairs of eyes on him (with different degrees of focus), but blustered on regardless. His first attempt, “never have I ever gone longer than a week without changing my socks,” had been innocent enough, but it seemed that his companions were determined to make this a circle of embarrassing secret sharing. He took another sip of his drink for courage.

“Never have I ever _been_ with more than one person at once.”

Isabela (of course), Anders and Sebastian took a drink.

“Two?”

Another drink for all of them.

“... Three?”

Another drink.

“You know,” said Anders, slightly more loudly than he needed to be in the close quarters they were sat in, “you can just _ask_. We won't shun you for insulting the integrity of the game.”

“All right,” said Hawke, staring at Anders with more colour on his cheeks than the alcohol he'd drunk really warranted, “how many?”

“I...” Anders looked towards Isabela for assistance.

“The Pearl?” He nodded. “I think it was about... ten? That's my answer too, by the way.”

“Ten?” Aveline asked incredulously, apparently torn somewhere between disgust and admiration.

“How does that even _work_?” asked Hawke in a small voice.

“I can show you, if you'd like,” said Isabela sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes in Hawke's direction. “Maybe you can convince Anders to join in again.”

“Not going to happen,” Anders said, a little mournfully.

Sebastian meanwhile, whilst everyone's attention was diverted, had sunk into the background, hoping they would get the hint and not prod any further. Unfortunately, he had not accounted for Merrill, for whom hints were mysterious and largely optional things.

“What about you, Sebastian?” she asked. Her eyes were sparkling with mirth (and cheap ale), and yet still managed to bore a hole into him.  
“...Thirteen,” he muttered, avoiding everyone's eye contact and trying to drown out the sound of Isabela's peals of laughter. _Blessed are they who stand before..._

“Why oh why couldn't I have met you before you decided to get all _chantry_?” she said, wiping a tear from her eyes. “We could have had such fun.” She gestured a thumb towards Anders. “And he can do this really nice thing with his--”

“Please stop,” said Hawke, looking deeply traumatised (and all right, maybe he was thinking a little bit too hard about just what Anders could do and those were _not_ appropriate thoughts to be having in public.)

“Spoilsport.” She looked over at Sebastian, still deep in prayer. “Do you think he wants his turn?”

Varric waved a hand in front of Sebastian's face, then shook his head. “Congrats, you've broken Choir Boy.”

“From the sounds of it, he's done far worse,” Fenris observed mildly. Sebastian let out a quiet whimper.

“By the end of the evening, Sebastian, I shall have all the sordid details of your past.” Isabela folded her arms across her chest, emphasising her generous expanse of cleavage. “By any means necessary.”

“Warn us before that happens, will you?” said Anders dryly. Isabela swatted him across the head.

“It's nothing _you_ haven't seen before. Anyway, it's your turn until Sebastian returns to the world of the living.”

Anders looked thoughtful for a moment. “Never have I ever out-drank a dwarf,” he said finally.

“I'm a little unsure about the metaphysics of that,” said Varric. He'd lost his coat somewhere over the course of the evening, and was managing to look as if he owned the place even with the proprietor of the Hanged Man shooting them dirty looks every so often. “So I'm going to drink anyway.”

So, much to their surprise, did Aveline. She too had loosened up considerably since the game had started, forgoing her usual headband and letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “It does the men no good if they can't be out-drunk by their captain. I've developed a certain resili...” she frowned to herself as she fumbled over the word, “ _resilience_.”

\- - - 

“Never have I ever...” Isabela stumbled in her seat, despite all logic to the contrary that that shouldn't have been possible. “Oh, bollocks to this. Everyone just drink.”

“It was your idea in first place,” mumbled Hawke from his prone position on the table. (At some point, standing up on the table seemed like a really good idea. Unfortunately, he was not in the best position to do such taxing things as standing, at which point lying on the table seemed like a reasonable compromise. Isabela had taken the opportunity to teach Merrill how to do body shots, although she'd argued that Hawke really ought to have been naked.)

“Don't bring logic into this!” Isabela said irritably. She shook her head as though to clear it, then pointed sharply (if a little shakily) at Sebastian. “Okay, never have I ever slept with him.”  
“I haven't slept with any of you,” replied Sebastian in slurred tones. “But before...” He gesticulated wildly, hitting a snoring patron on the table behind them in the face. “I would have slept with all of you! At once!”

Merrill once again set off on a fit of giggles, propping herself up against Fenris to avoid falling over. Fenris, for his part, seemed intoxicated enough not to care, and even caught her when a particularly strong wave of laughter made her slip. Uncertainly, he pushed her back onto her seat and then cautiously patted her on the head.

Anders, however, seemed to considering Sebastian's words. “Have you ever been to Ferelden?” he asked, surprisingly coherent despite the numerous empty tumblers surrounding him.

“A long time ago, yes.”

“Redcliffe?” Sebastian rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully.

“The name does seem familiar. I think my family was visiting Arl... Whatshisname.”

Anders bit his lip. “Did you have a ponytail back then?”

“Yes, I... You!”

“Oh come _on_ ,” moaned Hawke.

“And you had this tattoo...”

“You had that fire trick...” Sebastian said weakly. “You nearly set the casks alight.”

Isabela stomped her foot angrily. “This is not fair! Merrill, my room, now!”

“If you're going to do me, I'd rather you just do it here,” Merrill said agreeably, starting to pull off her tunic. Varric made a strangling noise and threw his coat over her.

“No taking advantage of Daisy!”

“It's all right, I'd quite like to be taken advantage of. I can try and take advantage of her if you'd prefer, though.”

“Kitten!” Isabela exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. “I never knew you were such a...”

“Slattern?” Aveline suggested. Isabela shook her head.

“No, nicer.”

“Opportunist?”

“That works.”

“No sex in here,” Hawke said, as sternly as he could manage while staring up at the ceiling. “It's filthy.”

“So'm I,” Isabela said with a wink. “Not as filthy as _him_ , though. I can't believe you--”

“I thought we weren't going to bring that up again,” said Fenris, looking faintly green and the rest of them looking not much better. Sebastian, drunken past the point of shame, only shrugged.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

There was a pause as they all tried to figure out how it could possibly have seemed like a good idea, met with the sudden realisation that they really, really didn't want to know.

“So...” said Aveline, “is it my turn?”

“Go for it,” said Varric, who was still keeping a wary eye on Isabela and Merrill.

“Never have I ever,” she let out an uncharacteristic giggle, “had a sex dream about Hawke.”

As one, they all drank – and as one minus Hawke, they stared at him.

“... How?” Hawke shrugged the best he could while lying down.

“I had breasts,” he said, as if that explained everything.

There was another uncomfortable pause.

“Why can't I have those dreams?” Isabela asked, staring morosely down at her drink. Merrill leaned across and patted her on the shoulder, nearly falling over in the process. Hawke, meanwhile, seemed to be processing what had just been said and shot up, knocking his drink over in the process.

“ _You've_ had sex dreams about me?” He pointed (probably) in Anders' direction. Behind him, someone muttered about favouritism. “Why didn't you tell me?!”

Anders blinked, staring at the finger in front of him with an unfocused gaze. “It... never came up?”

Isabela snorted. “There's your problem right there.”

“I thought you weren't interested,” said Hawke, ignoring her. Anders let out a shaky, false-sounding laugh.

“I just don't see why you would be.”

At this, Merrill made quiet cooing noises. Varric, suddenly aware that if he didn't intervene soon he'd have someone else stripping off (and this time without a coat to protect their modesty), slammed his tankard down noisily.

“Not exactly the time or place, people. When I describe Hawke's passionate love affairs in the future, I don't want to have to start with 'the air was full of the rich smell of stale vomit'.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait,” said Merrill, a little uncertainly, looking even younger than usual swamped in Varric's coat. “You're going to tell people about that? Isn't that a little personal?”

“It's a lot personal, Daisy. That's why people want to hear it. And read it. And maybe in the future, watch a theatre performance of it.”

“Not in my city, they won't,” Aveline told him sternly. Varric raised his hands placatingly.

“It was only a suggestion.” And, because he didn't like the look she was sending his way, the one that tended to come with lectures about his various... business ventures, he quickly changed the subject. “Elf! Your turn!”

\- - - 

The night was finally drawing to an end, if for no other reason than Corff had refused to serve them any more. The man had looked close to tears after the combined forces of Isabela and Aveline tore into him for this injustice.

Merrill (who had somehow managed to lose all of her clothes apart from Varric's coat) was leaning against the dwarf, smiling to herself and occasionally absent-mindedly stroking his chest hair. Varric himself had apparently been struck with drunken inspiration, and was writing in a book in a messy scrawl. (Later the next day, he would re-read what he'd written and tear the pages out, but could never quite bear to throw them away.)

Fenris and Sebastian had at some point progressed from their fairly lukewarm friendship to frotting furiously in one corner of the room, either unaware or uncaring of the audience this had drawn. (Sebastian would later be horrified to discover that among the audience was the elderly sister Of Which They Did Not Speak, who from that moment on would bring it up whenever they were in the same room.) Isabela had attempted to join in, and had stormed away in a huff a few minutes later, feeling thoroughly ignored. Instead, she'd wrapped herself around Aveline, who seemed rather more tolerant of the pirate's present with a considerable amount of ale inside her – though she had politely refused Isabela's offer of “a night of passion the likes of which you've never even imagined”. (She had, however, agreed to let Isabela play with her hair, and was now wearing it in a pair of messy plaits.)

Now, however, Isabela was leaning against Hawke, occasionally kissing him and asking if he was really, _really_ sure he didn't want to go up to her room. She had considered getting a bit more aggressive, but had noticed the look Anders was sending her way and decided she had quite enough enemies to be getting on with. A little electricity could be nice – a lot of electricity probably less so. Hawke, meanwhile, seemed more or less oblivious to this quiet show of possessiveness, and had draped his arms over both of their shoulders.

“Why does everyone call me Hawke?” Hawke asked suddenly, and Anders and Isabela both shared a bemused look.

“Because it's your name, sweet thing,” she said. Hawke attempted to roll his eyes, but just looked slightly mad in the process.

“I have a first name, you know. Why does no-one ever call me that?”

“Do you want to be called by your first name?” Anders asked cautiously, unsure if he was treading on thin ice here and far too drunk to go about it with much grace.

“Well... no, not really,” Hawke said grudgingly. He wasn't exactly fond of his name, and wondered sometimes who had picked it. Neither his mother or father seemed to want to take credit for it. “It's just, I know everyone else by their first name, an'... and sometimes it feels a bit impersonal, you know?”

“If it makes you feel any better, Isabela's not my _real_ name,” Isabela said, with only the smallest hint of smugness. “It's just what everyone calls me.”

“Oh.” Hawke blinked, then gestured towards Anders. “At least I know yours.” It had been meant affectionately, and Hawke was sure that even without the drunken haze clouding his mind Anders' look of sheer incredulity would not have made much sense.

“Uh, no you don't.”

“... I don't?”

“You didn't actually think Anders was my given name, did you?”

“It isn't?!” And alright, it probably _was_ the drunken haze that made that seem like such a terrifying thing.

“... You actually thought my parents called me 'Anders'. Did that not ever seem like a rather odd name to give someone?” Anders' eyebrows were quickly ascending towards his hairline.

“I don't know, my parents called my brother _Carver_!” Hawke said, a little desperately, and immediately looked guilty. “Who I miss each and every day,” he added solemnly, the effect ruined slightly as he hiccuped.

“But _Anders_.”

“But that's what everyone calls you!” Anders looked pointedly at Isabela, who gave Hawke a little wave. “Oh.”

“I grew up in the Anderfels, then we moved to Ferelden. Several years later, templars at the door et cetera, I was the only one in the Circle with a foreign name. The nickname stuck.”

Hawke tried to think of a suitably sympathetic response to that, but curiosity won out. “So, what _is_ your name?”

“Anders,” said Anders simply. Isabela sniggered into her drink.

(It is worth noting that at this moment, a still nearly-naked Merrill was demonstrating her newly discovered talent at body shots on Aveline, Varric too distracted by his writing to play mighty dwarven protector of virtue. Isabela would later discover she had missed out on this, and would throw several heavy and expensive objects at Hawke's head in her anger.)

“I bet,” she began, setting her drink down again, “your name's something really embarrassing. Like Eugene! Is your name Eugene?”

“If my name was Eugene, do you really think the apprentices would have called me 'Anders'?”

“You... make a fair point.” She began to toy with her necklace. “I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

“I don't really care that much.”

“I _do_ ,” said Hawke (in tones that were most definitely _not_ whiny), fighting the ridiculous urge to pout. “Why did you hide this from me?”

“Hide-- it's nothing sinister! Why are you so interested?”

Hawke looked at Anders as though he'd grown an extra head. “Because I'm interested in _you_ ,” he said slowly, as though speaking to an idiot. He leaned forward, resting his head against Anders', and kissed him softly.

Then, because certain moments have to be ruined, Hawke pulled away and let his head slam against the table as he slumped forward. Anders stared at him for a few seconds, and rolled his eyes as Hawke began to snore quietly. “Very romantic.” Isabela gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“At least he didn't throw up on you.”

“Thank the Maker for small mercies,” said Anders with feeling. He sighed, and placed his palm against Hawke's head, letting a little healing magic pass through. “He doesn't need that as well as a hangover.”

“Isn't there some magical cure for hangovers? Eye of newt, that sort of thing?”

“If there is, I haven't found it yet. You're welcome to try the eye of newt, though.” Isabela laughed.

“You've been a lot more fun tonight than usual, you know.”

“I'll have to make up for it tomorrow. I've nearly finished the newest edition of my...” He made a vague gesture. “Thing. Mani... thing. In fact I...” he trailed off, having finally caught sight of Fenris and Sebastian. “Oh.”

“What?” Isabela turned to see what he was looking at. “ _Oh_ ,” she said, in honeyed tones. “That's... oh, that's inventive.”

He didn't like either of the men much (even if he was remembering that Sebastian had had very talented hands), but it was difficult to remember this when _so much_ was on display.

“We should do this more often,” Isabela murmured, nibbling slightly at a finger she had pressed against her lips.

Anders was inclined to agree.


End file.
